


You stole my toaster and my heart (in that order)

by beastmonsterthing



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, Fluff, M/M, Peterick, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3998890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastmonsterthing/pseuds/beastmonsterthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunkenly stolen toasters are kinda the best matchmakers. Or in which Patrick steals Pete's toaster and neither of them are fit to be near an open flame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_He had done far too many shots, his vision was blurry and his drunken dancing was almost comical. The blonde he was chest to chest with didn’t seem to mind, though – grinding closer to him and batting her clearly fake lashes flirtatiously (or what Pete assumed was flirtatious – she could have something in her eye with the intensity of her blinking). He was dimly aware of the smell of chapstick and beer, then a tongue down his throat._

He opened his eyes, the shooting pain in his skull was worth ending the flashback. At least he was in his own shitty dorm – thankfully alone. Small comfort. Another party, another girl, another hangover – this was his life now – whether the bitter taste in his mouth was from the last night’s activities or from his thoughts he didn’t know. Something buzzed at the edge of his consciousness, just out of his reach. A lyric - something about burning bridges, he ignored it, wanting nothing but a hot cup of his shitty coffee. Maybe Joe would visit and bring breakfast? Unlikely.

The doorbell rung just as he slipped on a hoodie and jeans off the floor, echoing in his miserable, hung-over head. Irritated at his coffee being interrupted, he opened the door with unnecessary force, turning his tired glare at the visitor. His anger melted considerably at the sight of a cherubic face, blue eyes, inviting lips grimacing.  


“Hey man, look I’m really sorry; a friend dragged me here yesterday and I must’ve gotten really wasted – like really wasted – because I had no idea I promise, I just woke up and had your well, your toaster and uh I promise I didn’t mean it, I just noticed and I came right here to return it I’m not like a kleptomaniac or anything I promise.”

  
The angelic voice went perfectly with the face – no one should be able to make sheepish look that good. 

“Um…so are you going to report me or something?” Pete realized he had zoned out for the entirety of his future husband’s high paced rant. Shaking himself down to Earth, everything clicked into place with the toaster and the nervous frown of its beholder.

“That’s fine dude – don’t worry about it – really , this is pretty much the norm for me. I’m Pete.” He finished, trying not to trip over his words.  


“M'Patrick, should I put this inside for you?” the kid had breathed a literal sigh of relief. 

Patrick – it was perfect, Pete realized slipping into yet another daydream – wondering what music this Patrick liked, did he write at all, surely with that voice he must sing. Woah woah WOAH. Pete’s daydream ground to a halt as he realized the lack of nudity and alcohol that usually featured in his dreams of others. It was practically his M.O., investing himself completely in a stranger only for all there to remain of the relationship a few weeks later some fading hickeys and yet another angry poem.

“Pete,”  


“Sorry, I was just uh, yeah if you can put it on the counter, Patrick?” he pronounced the name reverently.  


Instead of hightailing it out of the hungover, daydreaming guy’s house the strawberry blond boy surveyed the detritus of the party, then turned those baby blue eyes to the inhabitant of the filth. Suddenly the taller student was acutely aware of his unstraightened bedhead, unlined eyes, and questionable smelling clothes. This was ridiculous – a guy (a freshman probably at that) making Pete Wentz weak at the knees. His poetic brain began considering a pickup line calculated to make Mr 5’4” blush (or possibly consider a restraining order).

“I’m making breakfast for you.” The decisive dontfuckwithme tone was impossible to ignore – and _hot_. Had Pete zoned out again?

“What?”  


“I stole your toaster and you don’t really look fit to be around an open flame – it’s the least I can do. Do you have any eggs?” he said, thankfully without stuttering.

This was going to be an interesting morning.

You'd think conversation between an embarrassingly hungover guy and a perpetrator of toaster theft thrown awkwardly into a domestic situation would be more, well - awkward. It really really wasn't. Patrick's taste in music was eclectic but perfect, the music major nervously admitted to composing, playing and singing music. Ha - Pete _knew_ he sang. Their mutual musical ramblings were stopped abruptly with the loud beeping of the smoke alarm.  


"Oops. Maybe I'm not fit to be around an open flame either." Patrick laughed, turning from Pete's confused face to the sadly charred and inedible eggs.  


"This really isn't your best day is it - theft and arson - not even noon yet!" Pete teased, laughing at Patrick's flustered gesturing.  


"Hey! And I'd hardly call burning eggs arson."  


"You set off the smoke alarm."  


An amused eye roll left them in a too long silence. The blond coughed, moving towards the door only to be stopped by Pete literally _sliding into his way._

"Hey, so that wasn't the greatest of first meetings but do you want to go somewhere and have breakfast with me?" anxious, over-analytical thoughts began swimming underneath the raven hair before he could even choke the sentence out.  


"It really wasn't, was it? I know a place with the best pancakes around the corner." 

The words drove away the unwelcome thoughts and the headache, leaving only images of the speaker in Pete's head. He could live with that he realized as Patrick laughed his (perfect) lilting laugh at Pete's pathetic attempts to lace his shoes, which was met with mock hurt.

Yeah - Pete could definitely get used to having his toaster stolen.


	2. (Coffees for Closers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth rotting fluff. Or, in which a serial flirter and a serial blusher find themselves on an unlikely date.

The pair walked with their sides pressed flush together even in the warm indoors, only separating hesitantly to slide into the booth. Pete was gesticulating passionately, describing his band and their music, both of their visions so tunneled they hardly noticed the diner around them. Patrick was splitting his attention between the anecdote and the whiskey eyes gleaming as they retold it. He wondered who wrote the songs - it must be Pete, just from their short conversation Patrick was sure his eloquent, fresh language would make for brilliant lyrics. His bandmates would be mad to let that go untapped.

 “So who writes the lyrics?” Pete’s grin turned to a different expression as he suddenly became very interested in his hands. _Nervousness?_ Yes, that was definitely it.

“I do, but most of what I really write - poems - are outside the band.” Ha! Patrick knew he wrote!

“D’you think you’d,” the bustling waitress set down two steaming piles of pancakes between them. “Could I read them sometime?”

“Only if I can hear you sing.” the grin had returned. The blond boy ducked his head under his fedora.

“You’ve got too much faith in my abilities.” he laughed self-deprecatingly.

“Nonsense, Trick I’m sure you sing like an angel.” the flirty shit said in a _freaking sing-song_. The, unfortunately, pale ‘Trick’ wasn’t sure what made him blush more, the compliment, the nickname, or Pete’s blind faith in him.

 His toothy-smiled companion gestured extravagantly at the pancakes and coffee, a little too extravagantly, as he knocked Patrick’s glasses askew. That was enough to send the two sleep deprived college students into peals of laughter. His future husband's (oh god he was a teenage girl) laugh was the prettiest thing Patrick had ever heard, high but still husky from the early hour. The bespectacled man was suddenly extremely thankful for his skinny jeans.

Still giggling ( _giggling_ ) slightly, Pete downed his entire sugary latte in one gulp. Responding only with a sheepish shrug and “Hangover, man.” to Patrick’s incredulous expression, he failed to notice the cinnamon on the corner of his mouth. So naturally, being the absolute _nerd_ he is, Patrick picked up a napkin and wiped it off for him. It was Pete’s turn to look incredulous and Patrick’s to blush again, though for entirely different reasons this time.

 “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to that was weird I’m,” Patrick began rattling off looking slightly horrified.

“Do you always talk that fast when you’re flustered? I’m just saying, it’s pretty adorable. Don’t worry about it dude.” Pete laughed, not unkindly.

He wasn’t offended or screaming ‘no homo’, he was just amused. The alarms blaring in the fedora-clad head calmed. Also, had he just called Patrick adorable?! Between his awkwardness and the serial flirter his companion was turning out to be, Patrick exasperatedly resigned himself to blushing forever.

Pleasantly full, with pancakes and good conversation, both savored the comfortable silence in the tiny booth. If either of them were any taller, their legs would be practically entwined.

“Oh shit!” the tinier of the two exclaimed.

“Did you steal someone else’s toaster too?” Pete quipped, laughing at Patrick’s eye roll.

“Haha asshole, I have a meeting with my counselor in like twenty minutes.” Patrick cursed. After some back and forth about paying, both of them made for the door reluctantly.

“Hey, um, do you maybe, um, want my number?” the now late student stammered, trying to ignore the vicious jibes the voices in his head flung at him.

“Are you kidding, yes!” the eager response came, once again quelling the alarms. Hurriedly, Patrick whipped out a scrap of paper and pencil, handing his number to Pete, he disappeared into the snow with a last wave and a smile warm enough to bring back spring (in Pete’s opinion at least).

 This had certainly been an interesting morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long this is going to be, but I have the third chapter planned and it makes up for all the fluff in this. Please leave comments/criticism/suggestions :D


	3. He's the Tear In My Heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete is convinced someone has cursed him. Or in which Pete and Patrick definitely are not pining, lovesick teenagers (really).

For the first time in weeks, Pete was happy - disgustingly happy. Like most things Pete did, it was extreme and borderline pathetic - head over heels after just after one date. Bursting into his flat, he reached into his pocket for the hallowed scrap of paper. Wait, what? Pete could have sworn he had put it right there, in his coat pocket.

_“Hey mate, sorry about that.” in his Patrick driven reverie, he had stumbled into and scuffled briefly with a burly frat guy. “Watch where you’re going douche.” he had responded in his burly frat guy voice before storming off. Even that wasn’t enough to knock off the rose-tinted glasses with which the hazel eyes looked at the world through this morning.  
_ _“Watch where you’re going douche.” he had responded in his burly frat guy voice before storming off. Even that wasn’t enough to knock off the rose-tinted glasses with which the hazel eyes looked at the world through this morning._

Until now. Oh god, in the scuffle he must’ve somehow lost the number from his shallow pocket. He was convinced someone had magically cursed him. This couldn’t happen - no one, not even Pete could have such bad luck. _No no no_. Wait, this guy wasn’t fucking James Bond or anything, they went to the same university - could Pete track him down again? But he didn’t even know the dude’s last name, let alone where he lived or his schedule. This was typical of him, he had met the perfect guy; an interesting, hot, nice one that actually _liked him back_ and then in an extravagant display of his stupidity, he had lost his number.

He had entertained the thought of coming up with an elaborate Patrick-hunting scheme but at the best that would mean false hope, at the worst a restraining order. Completely and utterly _done_ with his tendency to fuck up everything he touched, Pete was seriously considering screaming into a pillow for the rest of the day. No, that was too angsty, even for him. So like any other mature adult would do, he pouted, sulked and snapped his way through the rest of the week. What was the saying - if you really want to make someone suffer, don’t send them to hell, give them a tour of heaven. Ugh. It was ridiculous he was still pining over a guy he had known for less than three hours a week later. But it hadn't felt like just three hours. This was it. He was Pete fucking Wentz and he did not sit around waiting for Prince fucking charming like a lovesick teenager for god’s sakes, he got blackout drunk and made terrible decisions that meant avoiding eye contact with half the campus. Tonight he would go to that club place Joe had mentioned and revert to the B.P (Before Patrick) days.

Wrapped in these half thoughts, he walked right into the only other person in the wide hallway, making them drop their books. Why did the world hate him?

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I was uh...Patrick?” Pete’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, it would’ve been pretty funny if it weren’t for the circumstances. 

Initially, Patrick had hoped that Pete was just busy, but after three days of staring blankly at his phone, he accepted he was grasping at straws. He had always known someone like Pete would be way out of his league, but being the naive idiot was he had hoped this time would be different. They’d really hit it off, but clearly, it had all been in his head. Whatever - Pete was a douche, half the campus’ one night stand. “Can you really blame him, look at him he’s practically a sex symbol, why would he ever want _you?_ " his monologue had taunted. So Patrick had given up, fully expecting to never see Pete again. Until now.

“I’ve got them, I don’t need your help.” it came out more bitter than he had intended.

“Look, Patrick, I can explain why.” he handed Patrick his books, looking completely sincere. The blond wondered why he even cared so much, they had barely known each other for three hours.

“I’m not a child Wentz if you didn’t want my number you should’ve just said.”

Ouch. Pete had thought of little else except this moment for the past week. But in his head, it involved kissing, not the usually polite boy spitting Pete’s name like it was poison in his mouth. A small part of him was flattered he cared. He hated that part.

“Look, I promise you I’m telling you the truth. On the way back home from the cafe, I walked into someone and I must have dropped your number somewhere then, I really wanted to find you but I don’t even know your last name and I promise I’m not that much of a douche, really I feel terrible. I’ll completely understand if you hate me forever.”

The icy blue eyes just stared.

“Right, I’ll just go then, I’m really sorry Patrick,” he mumbled to his shoes. Silence.

“Stump. My last name is Stump and believe me I’ve heard all the jokes. Also, you’re a complete dork.” A hint of a smile played on those pink lips. The following grin on the only slightly taller student was enough to outshine the sun (at least in Patrick’s opinion).

“Do you want to maybe go to my dorm - it’s not far, we could um, pizza and movies?” the now beanie clad boy asked trepidatiously.

“I do, Patrick Stump,” Pete exclaimed, playing the blushing bride (though he wasn’t the one blushing, ha!).

Before he could over think it, Pete slid his hand into Patrick’s shyly. It was Patrick’s turn to grin, squeezing his slim fingers as they started down the hall.Both of them wondered if they would ever meet under normal circumstances. Both of them wondered if they cared. Both of them decided they didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will probably be 5 chapters, but honestly idk. Hope you liked it! Please leave comments/criticism/suggestions :D

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so this is my first real foray into writing fanfiction and I hope you like it! Please comments/any criticism or suggestions :D


End file.
